


love me love me, say you do

by lozrharry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Recreational Drug Use, harrys a sub, harrys sad, its angsty, theres implied zarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 20:43:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11768019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lozrharry/pseuds/lozrharry
Summary: basically just 5,500 words of filth. harry gets high and needs someone to sort him out





	love me love me, say you do

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first thing like this that i've ever written and i wrote it pretty fast and i looked it over but im not the best at finding errors so please excuse me for that and let me know if u enjoy this messy fic!! <3 the title is from the song wild is the wind, covered by cat power. i wasnt creative enough to come up with one myself lol

Harry knows it’s not smart. God, he knows. He gets this warm feeling in his stomach that rises up, up, up into his throat when he thinks about it. He tries not to, he really does, it’s just that - sometimes, on nights like these, it’s all he wants. All he needs. 

 

He rarely lets his mind wander, knows it’s not healthy to obsess over something that happened so long ago. It was so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, really, not even causing a wrinkle in anyone’s day. Still, it’s the one thing Harry’s truly embarrassed about. And that’s the thing - Harry doesn’t _get_  embarrassed. Not really.

 

It’s just that it’s 8:47 on a Tuesday night and Harry’s sat on his couch, sucking on his second joint in the past hour. He’s not usually like this, doesn’t really get high often - prefers the feeling he gets when he’s been drinking. Tonight, though, tonight he has a buzz running throughout his body, starting in his fingertips and ending in his toes; he tries to fool himself into thinking that smoking will calm it, finally stomp on the feeling until it just seems to… end. But that’s never how this works and deep down, somewhere inside of him, he knows this. He’s just prolonging the inevitable. 

 

His eyelids feel heavy as he reaches down to his jean pocket and grips his phone. It takes a few tries to slip it out of his pocket, but on the sixth attempt he manages it, his newly cut hair falling into his eyes. Harry takes a look at his lock screen for the first time in what feels like hours but has probably just been a couple of minutes, and when the brightness burns his eyes he squints, pouting, until he remembers how to turn it down. 

 

He’s gotten a few texts from Niall, something about a game of golf on television. His mum’s texted him as well.

 

Ignoring the messages, he takes another hit from the joint, inhaling as deep as he can so he can feel the smoke fill up his lungs, and opens up his contacts app. He scrolls until he lands upon the one contact he’s been avoiding for the past six months, since the last time this happened. He taps on the name, hesitating over the little phone icon, before shutting his eyes and saying  _Fuck it, I need this_ , and going through with it.

 

He hears the dial tone just enough times for him to get second thoughts, but then, just as he’s about to hang up, she answers.

 

“Haz? What’s up, mate? Been a while, hasn’t it?” She sounds nearly as fucked up as he is, a crowd of people somewhere far away.

 

He makes an effort to swallow before he answers but his mouth is so dry that he can’t. He doesn’t know if it’s from the weed or his nerves.

 

“Um. I’m well. Yeah, it has been… it’s been about six months.” Cutting right to it, hoping he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels.

“You alright, H? I’m — I’m at Dan’s house, sorry, you know how shit the reception is here. Let me just—” Somewhere from her end he hears a shout and has to lower the volume on his phone, it makes him more anxious. As she finds a better place to talk he contemplates just hanging up, texting her an apology and a promise to get together soon, but he really is so fucked and all he can think of is his mouth on her cunt.

 

There’s the soft sound of her breathing and then — “Alright, thank fuck, I got away. What’s going on, H?” Her words are slurring a bit and he could imagine the way her lip gloss is probably smeared. “You could - you could come over. If you want. Y’know, only if you want. If you’re not doing anything else.” He brings a hand up to his temple, rubs at it while thinking about all of the other ways he could have responded, and then she’s talking.

 

She doesn’t respond for a few seconds. He inhales from the joint until it crackles, exhaling long and slow. He needs to bring his hand down to where his cock is rubbing against his zipper, stifling a groan. Then, finally, “You want me to come over now?” Harry feels the sudden urge to stretch out the stiff parts of his body, knows it’s from the weed and suppresses it.

 

When he doesn’t respond, he can hear her walking further away from the crowd until theres barely any background noise at all. He attaches his lips to the joint again, pulling.

 

He can hear her breathing steadily. “You want me to come over, Haz? You feelin’ a little stressed, is that what this is about?”

 

He shuts his eyes one more time, so grateful for the way he doesn’t need to explain himself to her. “Yeah. Please. It’s bad tonight.” He presses the palm of his hand into his crotch. Breathes in deeply, exhales slow.

 

“Stay put. I’ll be over in a half hour.” And then the call ends.

 

Harry drops his phone onto his thigh, taking one last hit and finishes the joint. He basks in the way the feeling overcomes him; the familiarity of it all encompassing his body and mind.

 

And now, he waits.

 

***

 

 

When his doorbell rings, he hasn’t moved from his position on the couch. She said to stay put, is all.

 

It feels like it takes him centuries to reach the door - no matter how much he walks, it doesn’t seem to get any closer.

 

He makes it to the entrance, stumbling over himself, and is suddenly met with the memory of the time Zayn giggled and said, “You’re just like a little baby deer, Hazza. C’n never do anything without falling over or summat.” Harry thinks about the fond look on Zayn’s face when he said that; his eyes were squints because of his big, goofy smile - the one that made his nose scrunch up the way Harry always loved. They were waking up in the same bed the morning after they had performed at Madison Square Garden, still giddy from the night before, so overjoyed just to be together. Harry remembers the feeling of just being completely _happy_  and has to look up to the ceiling to cease the burning in his eyes. He rubs the heels of his palms into his eyelids until he sees colors, and stands up straight.

 

Harry shakes his head and forces the memory underneath everything in his mind. He’s trying to forget, tonight.

 

***

 

 

When Harry sees her, his body just - relaxes. “Hey, H,” she comes into his house, and Harry remembers the first time she was here. He was only a child, about 17 when they first started doing this - when he first started needing it. She couldn't stop looking around, saying, “For fuck’s sake, it’s just so bloody _big_ , innit?” Harry had replied with one of the worst things he thinks he’s ever said in his life, “It’s not the only thing thats bloody big,” hoping for something to happen. Anything.

 

Harry doesn’t want to think about that, doesn't want to reminisce about when he was younger, happier. He’s fucking twenty-four now, has everything he could possibly want at his feet, and yet. He still comes back to this.

 

He steps closer to her, places a gentle hand on her face. “I want it. Everything. Tonight. Please.” His voice doesn't sound familiar, it’s even slower than usual, his tongue needing more time to form the words. His eyes burn again. He shuts them.

 

Her eyes are soft when she says, “Yeah, babe. Anything you want,” She leans forward until her eyelashes flutter against his cheek and Harry can feel her warm breath on his neck. She kisses his jaw and Harry just - melts. His shoulders drop even more, his head falls on her shoulder. “Alright bub. Why don’t you go get yourself ready for me, huh? You know how I like you.” Harry lifts his head from her shoulder and looks at her like he hasn't in so long - she sees his wet eyes and for a minute she wants to end it; just wants to sit down and ask him _what’s wrong_. But that isn’t what this is, and they both know that.

 

“Go on. Wanna be a good boy for me tonight, Haz?” And now they both know that this is definitely happening, Harry getting the look on his face that he always does when they do this. He makes a soft noise. “Yeah. Yes. Always wanna be good for you,” his brows furrowing.

 

“Then show me.” She leaves him there while she pads off her shoes and her sweater.

 

Harry leaves, heading straight to his bedroom where he knows what he’s meant to be doing. When he gets there, he walks quickly to his dresser, opens the third drawer from the left and reaches his hand underneath all of the clothes. He pulls out everything he needs and places it all on top of the dresser.

 

Before he does anything else, he pulls off his shirt; feels the material rub against his skin, still soaring from all the weed, his mind subdued and thinking about everything he’s been wanting since they did this last. Next are his socks, the fluffy ones Zayn bought him for his birthday one year. “Well, you _are_  always complaining about how your feet are always cold. Figured I’d help out.” They fucked that night, slow and so, so good. Harry wore the socks the whole time. He throws them across the room, shuts his eyes.

 

He slides off his jeans and is careful to avoid his prick, knows how she likes to be the first one to touch him when they do this. He isn’t wearing any underwear, likes the way the friction of the zipper feels against him when he smokes.

 

Harry grabs the the cock ring from where he put it on the dresser, carefully slides it on and groans, deep and long. He fucking loves this.

 

He sinks to his knees on the soft carpet. His cock is a deep red now, throbbing like it hasn’t in so long, and they haven’t even started. He hears footsteps coming to the room and he corrects his posture, tilts his head up, holds his hands behind his back, and waits.

 

When she walks in it’s with her curly black hair tied up how it always is, out of her face because he knows how she hates that. She’s wearing a white tank top and no bra, her tits visible through the fabric, and an old pair of washed out, black underwear. God, he wants to eat her out until she’s shaking, wants to feel her quiver on top of him.

 

She takes a few slow steps until she’s standing directly in front of him. “I didn’t wear any fancy underwear today, babe. Wasn’t expecting you to call me,” she shoves a hand in his hair and he feels his eyelids droop at the feeling, “Ah, ah, eyes open.” Her hand forms a fist in his hair and she tugs, knowing how wet this gets him - she can already see how the head of his cock is leaking. “I guess I should always assume that you’re at home, daydreaming about getting tossed around, huh. Just waiting for someone to come and treat you how you should be treated. Like a slag. Ain’t that right, Haz?”

 

Harry’s staring right at her, his mouth open and his cheeks turning pink at the tops. She tugs on his hair again. “I said, ain’t that right, Haz?”

 

“ _Yeah_ , God, I’m a slag,” the words come out sounding like they were punched out of him. His legs are starting to quiver.

 

Without letting up on the grip she has in his hair, she places her other hand on his throat, her thumb rubbing the skin just under his jaw, applying the tiniest bit of pressure. Just letting him feel her weight. “Yeah, that’s right. And slags do what they’re told, don’t they?” She presses her thumb into the soft skin of his neck, hard enough to hurt. She feels his breathing speed up, his stomach muscles clenching underneath the skin.

 

With short breaths, he gasps, “Yeah, fuck, I’ll do whatever you want, anything, I’ll-“ she cuts him off with a swift movement of spreading her legs, removing the hand from his throat, and shoving it down her underwear, rubbing herself slowly. Just for show. His eyes travel from her eyes to between her legs, still gasping for breath even though she took her hand off of his throat. She takes her hand out from her knickers, lets him struggle for a little while longer. She shows him her fingers, how they’re glistening in the light, says, “See this? I’m so wet for you, baby.”

 

Harry’s eyes widen and he swallows. “Please let me taste. Please.” He sounds manic, like if he doesn’t get what he wants soon, he’ll crack. She smiles at the thought; the pop star who has it all, except for when he’s with her. It’s up to her what he gets. What he deserves.

 

Stepping away from him, she smirks, says, “Good boys wait,” and makes a show of taking off the black pair she has on. Harry’s been so good, his hands still behind his back and he hasn’t made a move to touch her. 

 

When the underwear drops to the floor, she steps out of it, comes to stand in front of Harry once again. “Good boys do what they’re told, as well. Do you know what I want, H?” She’s bent down so her face is only an inch away from his. For the first time tonight, she presses her lips to his and makes it dirty from the very first touch. She opens her mouth and he opens up for her, learning each others mouths for what feels like the hundredth time. He groans into her, a long, drawn out sound. Her hands are traveling down his body, lightly touching his biceps, wrists, stomach, and carefully avoiding his cock when he fucks up his hips to try and get _something_ , anything. When she pulls away, his lips are pink and puffy, wet with it all. She wishes she could fuck his mouth, he’s got the perfect mouth for a dick down his throat.

 

She makes sure to tell him this, knowing how Harry is, how he gets off on the praise. “You’ve got such a fuckin’ lovely mouth, H. Sometimes I wish I had a cock so I could shove it down your throat, make you choke on it, we both know you’re a slut for that, c’mon,” Harry’s eyes are pleading with her now, just wanting to _taste_  her, God, he’s been waiting for so long. “But, alas, ‘ve only got a pussy. This will have to do.” And she spreads her legs, puts a hand on the back of Harry’s head and forces him onto her, and he doesn’t waste any time.

 

“Jesus, _f_ _uck_ , Harry, fuck,” his tongue is relentless, licking into her, trying to get his face as deep as he can without moving his hands. “Yeah, love. Fuck me, c’mon,” and Harry moans so deep she can feel the vibrations roll through her body. She’s fucking dripping now, she knows Harry must look a mess, his face buried deep in her, his nose rubbing against her clit while he fucks her with his tongue, and it feels so good she almost forgets that she’s in charge here.

 

She yanks his hair so hard it must sting, but Harry just opens his mouth wider, wanting more. “Haz, _yeah_ , suck my clit babe, make me come on your mouth,” Harry detaches himself so he can breathe, leans his forehead against her thigh, kisses the skin there. He looks up at her, his pupils so big, his chin fucking soaked. When he goes back, he sucks her clit until he can feel her clenching and making these sweet sounds above him, and when she pushes him away he realizes just how hard he is.

 

Harry whines because it’s starting to _hurt_ , now. His knees and jaw ache, his cock is up right and the head is touching his stomach so lightly that every time he wriggles, there’s a little feeling of pleasure. This is what he’s been waiting for, this feeling of helplessness - it could be hours before he comes, if she lets him come at all. The thought makes him whine again, closing his eyes for just a second before he remembers the rules.

 

She taps his shoulder twice now, wants him on the bed. When he stands up straight he wobbles over, not used to being on his feet. “That was good, Haz. But I wanna come again,” she leads him over to the dresser, takes the rope thats laying there and carefully ties his wrists together behind his back. She learned how to do this just for Harry, remembers how when they did this the third or fourth time, she was fingering him open while he laid on his front and with her other hand she grabbed for his wrists to hold them together. He very nearly came when she gripped them, fucking his hips into the sheets, a sound came out of him that sounded like a sob. “You get off on that, H? Knowing you can’t get away?” And she let him get close, rutting against the bed while she was three fingers deep, rubbing his prostate, only to all at once take her hands off of him. Harry had started crying, begging, “Please let me come, ‘ve been good, I can be better, I promise.”

 

When she’s finished tying his wrists, she tells him to lay on the bed on his back. She straddles him and takes off her tank top, knows how he loves her tits, he always has. 

 

There’s sweat on his forehead, his hair looks a fucking mess, his cheeks pink and his mouth open. His face scunches up uncomfortably when she slides her pussy over his cock, just letting him feel what’s right there, what he can’t have until she says he can. “”M gonna ride you until I come. I’m feeling a bit risky tonight, H. Maybe I’ll sit on your dick until I come twice.” She plants her hands on his chest, rolls one of his nipples between he thumb and her finger and twists hard. 

 

Harry’s dick twitches at that, his toes curling and his back arching the tiniest bit. He lets out a whimper.

 

She reaches over him to get a condom out of the nightstand, rips open the package and takes her time with sliding it on him, watches him squirm when it’s on and she squeezes the head just a little. “It’s dirty, y’know. How you like it to hurt,” Harry’s looking up to the ceiling, anywhere other than where she’s tracing over his prick. He knows it’s dirty. He _knows,_ and that’s why he tries not to let this happen.

 

She puts her knees on either side of his waist and looks at him. He really is beautiful, especially like this. “Look at me.” She smacks him lightly on the cheek.

 

His eyes are bloodshot from the joints. “If you move, I’ll stop and get myself off while you watch. Do you wanna come tonight?” She twirls her finger around a strand of his hair, tugs it.

 

Harry lets out a short breath, “Yeah, I wanna come. I wont move, I swear, I’ll be good,” he’s panting now, looking more desperate than she’s ever seen him. For the second time that night she’s compelled to stop and ask him why he’s so riled up, ask him what made him call her tonight, sounding like he wont survive if he doesn’t get this. 

 

Instead, she positions his cock just how she wants it, says, “I know you’ll be good for me,” and slowly sinks down, letting him fill her up.

 

They both moan, Harry sounding absolutely wrecked. She takes her time, places a warm hand on his neck and squeezes.

 

Harry’s eyes roll into the back of his head. He lets out a broken sound, “Hnng,” when she settles, his entire cock inside of her, always so good. 

 

“Your cock is so big, always fills me up so good,” she's whispering, rocking back and forth, letting herself feel the weight of him. The words make Harry’s neck go red, the veins there are showing as he throws his head back against the pillow. It’s just - his neck looks so pretty this way, stretched out like he’s offering himself to her. She bends down, still rocking her hips, and bites right where she knows he’s most sensitive.

 

He’s starting to tremble underneath her with the effort of not moving. He’s being so, so good.

 

Harry moans and it’s so fucking loud that for a second she’s nervous they’ll get noise complaints. Then she realizes they’re in Harry’s mansion that he calls a “cozy home.” No one is there to hear them, and she smiles. “Yeah, babe, let me hear you,” she’s starting to speed up, and the friction is so good but she needs more. She brings a hand down to her clit, being frantic about it all, chasing her second orgasm of the night. “ _Fuck_ , that’s good. Talk to me, H. Tell me how it feels.”

 

Every time she drops down, Harry makes these wrecked little noises, “ah, ah, ah,” and she can’t help herself, she takes her hand off of his throat and grabs his nipple. She fucking _pulls_.

 

He jolts at the feeling, “Oh, God, please, it - it’s good, it’s so good, please - oh _fuck_ ,” His eyes are wet again and she wants to lean down and kiss his cheeks. Instead she smacks him again, still rubbing her clit and it’s all catching up to her.

 

“‘M gonna come again, look at me, I want you to look at me when I come on your fat cock,” The words make him feel _hot_ , he moans loud and looks at her tits bouncing up and down, then looks her in the eyes.

 

He moans again, he can’t keep quiet. Her eyelids start to droop, she's bouncing on him so fast now that the sound of it makes him squirm, it’s wet and loud and everything Harry loves. When he feels her tighten around him, clenching down in waves, he can’t focus on anything but the way he feels - the way she’s using him to get off while he lays there with a cock ring on.

 

She throws her head back, and Harry’s hit with how beautiful she is. He would do anything to be able to touch her, put his big hands on her waist and hold her still while he fucks up into her like a dog in heat. But he won’t, he _can’t_. She’s moaning these high pitched moans, slowing down until she relaxes on top of him. She’s laughing. “Such a bloody slut for it, H. Wish you could see yourself right now.” He whines, everything hurts and he fucking lives for this.

 

She pulls herself off, carefully removes the condom. His prick is so hard she knows it has to hurt.

 

She’s still coming down from the orgasm but she looks at Harry and sees how his chest is rising and falling with his deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. She stays straddling him and moves up his body. “You still with me, Haz?” When she looks down at him, he nods. “Good. Eat me out again,” and she sits on his face.

 

She fucking loves the feeling of being licked out right after she’s fucked, loves how raw it is while she's oversensitive and open. She knows Harry lives for it as well - always eager to put his mouth on her, ever since he was 17. She remembers when he first did this, he was all big hands and big hair and big, green eyes. “I’ve, uh. Never done this before,” he said that day, looking sheepish with his head between her legs. “Well then! Practice makes perfect, isn't that what everyone says?” And had him go down on her until she came three times and they were both spent.

 

He’s a pro at it now, knows exactly how to work his lips and tongue. She takes some pride in that, knowing that she was his first with this sort of thing. She stops thinking about it when he latches on to her clit. “Ah! A bit - _fuck_  - a bit eager tonight, huh?” She grinds down on him, loves knowing he can’t escape from her cunt, he’s surrounded by it all. “Alright, alright, that’s enough,” and when he doesn't stop, she reaches around herself and puts a tight grip on his dick. Strokes him fast.

 

Harry jolts, stops licking her, and lets out a groan that comes from the back of his throat, “ _Fuck_  me, please, I need it,” he gasps out. 

 

 

“Oh, is that right?” She’s still stroking him, tight and fast. “Need me to fuck you, is that it? Want a dick in you, hm?” He’s whimpering now, a single tear falling from the corner of his eye down the side of his face. When he doesn’t say anything, she takes her other hand and twists his nipple.

 

His breath is coming out in short puffs. “Yeah, fuck, just wanna feel it,” and she stops touching him.

 

His arms must be hurting from the position they're in behind his back. His jaw has to be aching by now, and he must feel a strain in his stomach from restricting himself from moving. “Yeah, okay. You’ve been good for me all night. I think you deserve it.” She hops off of him and gets all of the things she needs from the dresser; the strap-on, the lube, and the gag.

 

“Sit up for me, H.” He does just that, waiting for her.

 

When she reaches him, she tells him tells him to open his mouth, and situates the gag. Gets it on him tight so it doesn't fall out. His lips are so, so pink and wet, and they look beautiful stretched around the ball.

 

“Alright. Turn over. Ass up,” she sees how his body relaxes at the words, he loves being treated like this, being talked to like a whore. 

 

He gets into the position she wants him in, and she needs to wait just a second to admire it all. His back is arched, face pressed into the bed, wrists tied behind his back. She gets behind him, puts on the strap-on, and lubes up her two fingers.

 

She rubs around his hole, knows how waiting for it makes it so much better for him. She hears him exhale slowly, and she pushes in with her other hand resting on his lower back, his hands on top of hers. She can _see_  the tension leak out of his body, the way it always does. “That’s it. Open up for me.” The room is so quiet she thinks she could hear Harry’s heartbeat if she tried to listen for it. 

 

She lets him feel her finger, gives him the chance to relax a bit for the first time since they started. After a minute she takes the finger out and slides in two of them, trying to stretch him. She looks down at the strap-on. It’s big, a bit bigger than Harry, but she knows that’s why Harry bought it in the first place. He loves the stretch of it, wants it to hurt a bit. With this in mind, she pulls out her fingers slowly, rises up on her knees, and puts lube on the silicone.

 

With a hand on Harry’s hip and the other guiding her cock, she starts to slide in.

 

Harry can’t fucking relax now, his hands clenched in fists so tight his knuckles are white. Before this, his moans and groans and whimpers were deep, but now, with a cock sliding into him, he’s all high pitched sounds that escape past the gag. She looks down at where she's sliding in to him, and just watches. He’s swallowing it up like he was made for it, his body just taking it because it can’t do anything else. “Know you love this. Know it hurts and you fucking get off on it,” she’s bottomed out, the entirety of it inside of him. “You ever think about how I’m the only one who can give this to you?” She starts to thrust, in and out, not quite fucking him yet. “You can go to any boy you want, have ‘em pass you around, fill up your hole one by one,” Harry can’t stop making these noises, he wants it, he wants it all so much. “But no matter how many boys you have, you always come back to me.” She pulls out nearly all the way, only the tip inside, and with all of her force she pushes in at the same time as she slaps his ass, leaving a bright red mark.

 

She puts both of her hands on his ass, spreads him open so she can see better. It’s a little dry and she didn’t prep him as much as she should have for a dick this big, but she knows he’s gagging for it, for the burn of it all.

 

She slides her hand down his back until she reaches his hair, grips it tight and pulls so Harry’s head is lifted off the bed. There’s saliva dripping down his chin and tears on his cheeks. He turns his head so she can see one side of his face, and his eyes are glossed over.

 

She thrusts in hard, and Harry gets quiet. He always shuts up when she hits his prostate, can barely comprehend how good it feels so he doesn’t make any noise. But she _hates_  that, always loves to hear him, wants him to scream out. She smirks and pulls out.

 

Harry makes a noise she’s never heard him make before. He turns his head as far as he can to look at her and with tears in his eyes and drops his head, like he’s accepting that he might not get to come. “You were quiet. Is this not good enough for you? Should I leave?” Harry pushes his ass closer to her, trying to get her back _in_ , he wants it, he wants it so fucking bad. He shakes his head so fast he gets dizzy, and moans in frustration.

 

“Then let me fucking hear you.” She pushes in, all of it in one quick thrusts and it forces him towards the headboard, his head dropping to the bed again, her hand still pulling his hair. He’s full on crying now, she can see how is eyes are drooping with the effort of keeping his ass in the air. With one hand she undoes the gag, really wants to hear him now, all of him. The gag falls from his mouth and he _yells_ , “Fuck me, fuck me, _yes_ ,” moaning like a mad man, he can’t stop.

 

It’s been so long, and it _hurts_. “Think it’s time for you to come yet?” She slaps his ass again, hard and fast. She’s panting with how rough she’s fucking him. “Want the cock ring off?” And he keeps whimpering. 

 

“Please take it off, wanna come, need to come,” and with one more smack, she reaches around him and takes it off. She grabs his hips with both hands and just _gives_  it to him. Her pony tail falls out but she doesn’t think about it, cant think about that when theres a boy beneath her, begging for it.

 

Without reaching for his prick, Harry yells, “Gonna come, gonna come, gonna come, _fuck_ ,” and loses himself in the feeling, his prick shooting off while she puts a hand in his hair and yanks it back.

 

He can’t stop shaking, oversensitive with a cock inside him, still pressing against his insides, making him squirm.

 

She very carefully pulls out and watches as Harry collapses on the bed. She takes off the strap-on, reaches under him for the gag and the cock ring and moves them all to the nightstand. She lays next to him, puts a hand on his cheek and pushes back the hair on his face, running her fingers through it.

 

“You were so, so good for me, Haz,” she says as softly as she can. He’s looking at her with eyes that are half open, the smallest smile on his lips. “Would you like some water?” When he nods, she leaves him to go to the kitchen.

 

Harry rolls over to the other side of the bed, exhausted. He reaches for his phone.

 

He got a message. From Zayn.

 

His eyes start to sting before he even opens it.

 

_Hope ur doing ok … xxx_

 

And he can’t help it when his eyes spill over. He throws the phone on the bed and lets the feeling he tried to get rid of overcome him. He just - wishes things were different.

 

When she walks back into the room with two glasses of water to see him crying, she puts down the cups and rushes over, sits next to him and puts a hand on his shoulder and another in his hair, stroking softly. “Harry? What’s happened, love?” And the words make him cry harder. Zayn used to always call him _love,_ would crawl into bed with him, kiss him on the forehead, cheek, nose, and finally on his mouth, mutter “Good night, love,” and shut the light. They would fall asleep giggling in each other’s arms.

 

He doesn’t have the energy to wipe his face though he knows how he must look. “I’m okay. Thank you. For this. For everything.” And with a small, dainty hand running fingers through his hair, he falls asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
